


Please Could You Kiss My Name?

by kibasniper



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Usage, Anxiety, Coping, Crying, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Future Fic, Headaches & Migraines, Love Confessions, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Other, Party, Post-Canon, References to Addiction, Regret, Repression, Romance, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22043566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Agent Bobby Zilch was never one for lavish parties, but the night moves in a cyclical pattern from good, to bad, to worse, to good in the span of an hour.
Relationships: Chloe Barge/Bobby Zilch, Phoebe Love & Bobby Zilch
Kudos: 6





	Please Could You Kiss My Name?

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the beastars opening "wild side" by ALl! mostly the chorus got me thinking about bobby and chloe, even though the song is more mikhail-ish in nature.

“Alright, alright, I give. Hendrix is slightly better than Dio but only slightly. Y'know, maybe one percent better,” Bobby said, pulling off Phoebe's headphones and setting them back in her hands. He fiddled with his loose tie, which hung through the collar of his white, short-sleeved button-up.

Phoebe threw her head back and cackled. Her grin pressed into her left cheek as she said, “I knew you'd see the light. Rather, hear the light.” She wrapped her headphones around her neck, carefully avoiding her drink.

Rolling his eyes, Bobby said, “Whatever. Ain't like it's a big deal. When I can actually hear over this crap, I'll give ya a real answer so you'll get off my ass about this.”

“Hey, you're the one who started debating with me,” she retorted, pointing a loose finger at his face.

He resisted the urge to smack away her offending hand. It wasn't like he was really agreeing with her. He only wanted to let their dispute end after it had gone on for too long. Standing still straining his ears to listen to a Jimi Hendrix song from her headphones while some techno track blared around them and indigo and lime filtered lights flashed from the ceiling had been like a bad acid trip. Letting Phoebe think she won seemed to be the only reasonable choice which didn't involve him picking her up and tossing her in the nearest trash can.

“So, are you having fun?” she asked, taking a ginger sip of her drink. The faintly pink liquid swirling in the dainty glass made it difficult for Bobby to place what kind of drink it was. He assumed it was some sort of girlish wine from the strange glitter shining in it.

“Me? It's fine, I guess,” he said, flipping off the cap of his bottle of beer. The brand was unknown, the covering ripped off. He didn't ask the bartender what it was when he grabbed off the table, walking away before he could get yelled at by the middle-aged, underpaid hag. Taking a quick gulp, he sighed, the taste scalding his throat and making him shake his head.

“Just 'fine?'” She narrowed her eyes on the bottle, her reflection distorted in the brown glass.

“What, you want me sayin' it's peachy keen like that drink you got there?” Bobby sneered, his lips curling upwards in a smirk.

She cleared her throat, and Bobby grimaced. Despite both of them being somewhat inebriated, Phoebe still shifted into lecture mode. It seemed the twenty-four-year-old agent couldn't shake off her duties so easily, not even when her mind was a bit addled from alcohol.

“Come on, it's the end of the year party, Bobby. You could act a little more excited about it,” she said, her tone gentle despite the bite in her words.

Bobby's shoulders slumped up and down. He glanced around, taking in the throng of young agents and speckle of adult interns currently making a complete mess of the Motherlobe's foyer. The smell of alcohol and sweat was in the air, something he was accustomed to back in Drywell. There only needed to be the pungent stench of marijuana, and he would have been home. Bobby took in the outfits of the other agents, mostly tight shirts and leggings. Others wore looser dresses with cleavage and slits down the back. Some of them had the gall to wear their uniforms as they danced, stained with booze droplets as they partied the night away, guided by the heavy beats and synths of Quentin's turntables at the receptionist desk turned stage.

He didn't care for large parties. They weren't his thing. He preferred smaller gatherings in a bar or someplace similar. Being surrounded by every single agent under the age of thirty-five cramped together made his skin crawl. He brushed against too many people to count on the dance floor when he tried passing through, their annoyed countenances firmly blaming him for interrupting their groove, even though they had been the ones to hit him with their hands, elbows, and even heel when Milka kicked her leg up when fish man dipped her. (He wouldn't say it was because of his claustrophobia or the fact that being in a group meant he was a target, a constant thought which stayed with him ever since he was a child. He'd never admit that even if his brain started fogging over.)

“I dunno, I chatted with some of the guys. Oh, and Commie tried wrestling me in front of the bathroom,” Bobby recalled as Phoebe groaned. “I think you were playin' with Quentin during that. That guy is fuckin' embarrassing when he's drunk. He's worse than me.”

“Right, right, oh, my God,” Phoebe quietly replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. Shaking her head, she finished the rest of her drink, shuddered, and looked up at him. “Well, if he's as drunk as you say he is, then I better go find him before he makes an ass of himself.”

“Oh, he doesn't have to be drunk to do that,” Bobby jeered as she sidestepped him.

She paused next to him. Looking at his bottle, she asked, “Speaking of wasted, how much have you had tonight?”

He hissed out a sigh. “Phoebe-”

“Bobby,” she pointedly interjected, “how many?”

He tilted his head back and guzzled the rest of his beer. It slid down his throat, burning his tongue and esophagus. Handing her the bottle, he said, “That's two with some wine I had with Chloe.”

“And you're not having anymore, okay?” She lowered her voice and tucked the bottle to her chest. “We talked about-”

“I know, I know. You're off the clock, so the Psychonauts ain't payin' you right now. Quit nagging me.” Bobby cleared his throat and put on a false falsetto. “'Only have a little if you go, Bobby. We don't want you chugging too much beer so you look like a fucking chump again and die. That's Mikhail's job.'”

Rolling her eyes, Phoebe said, “You should be a voice actor.” She smirked, leaving the conversation and pivoted into the crowd.

Bobby watched her go until he lost sight of her full curly locks. Sighing, he leaned into the wall, thankful it was next to him. He didn't want to have to drag himself back through the crowd like Phoebe, her various cries of “excuse me, pardon me” making him snicker. He also definitely didn't want to be littered in bruises by going through the dance floor like he had a half hour ago when he separated from Chloe. Staying close to the wall, he edged his way around agents who laughed a little too loudly, the sound cacophonous compared to Quentin's music.

Yawning, Bobby itched the back of his neck. He couldn't think of anything else to do at the party, and he had already talked with enough people. While catching up with Lili had been nice, there was only so much social interaction he could take. Even if her stories about traveling with the Aquatos involved many embarrassing escapades about Raz and elephant dung, he still felt uncomfortable with the wandering eyes of so many acquaintances passing him, the feeling of bodies too close to him. Even the loud, pumping music, something he would have possibly appreciated if it was metal, was beginning to make a dull ache swell in the back of his head.

Bobby pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Setting them back in place, he surveyed the crowd and spotted a couple familiar faces. Kitty and Franke were pressed up against the adjacent wall gossiping in low tones. To his surprise, JT and Chops were with them, the latter wearing his boyfriend's stupidly large ten gallon hat. They all broke into laughter, the girls with their high pitched giggles and the boys with overbearingly loud guffaws which reached all the way across the foyer.

“There's exactly one more hour til New Year's, ladies and gents and enbies! Let's keep the party going!” Quentin shouted from the stage, cheered on by the others.

 _Let's shut the fuck up for ten minutes,_ Bobby thought, scowling when Quentin spotted him and promptly gave him finger guns.

He dragged himself towards a grouping of circular tables covered in white tablecloths towards the entrance. Although the music was still deafening, there was a reprieve near a long, rectangular table where a plethora of food was spread out. He could have ducked down a hallway to recover, but his stomach growled, demanding food before he could hobble off to his office to relax from the closeness and noise.

Interns hovered by the strawberry punch bowl. He passed by them and the other fancy platters of now cold pizzas, burgers, and meats wordlessly, aiming for the colorful dessert section. Once warm, moist brownies cooled and seemed stale. Buttercream frosting was smeared on glass trays with quite a few cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies knocked over. Cakes slices of all kinds were spread out and waiting to be taken on paper plates, clean plastic forks nestled next to them. Bobby picked a vanilla slice topped in fudge and cookie crumbs and slathered in chocolate frosting, turning away before one of the interns could talk to him.

He made his way over to the stairs, which to his misfortune was right by the stage. He hoped the beer would kick in soon and give him that lightheaded feeling he desperately needed to clear his head. Laughter from behind him made the scars on his arms itch as his foot made contact with the first step, and he snapped at himself that it wasn't directed at him, the temptation to glare back at someone scraping his brain.

Grabbing the fork, he carved through the cake. He stuffed a piece in his mouth, distracting himself with the fluffy taste and rich fudge. Eating as he went, he squeezed his way through cliques who had the gall to crowd the stairs. The foyer still had more room for them, but agents embraced and danced on the steps. To his bewilderment, one of them levitated in the middle of the staircase. Rolling his eyes, Bobby lifted that person's legs, recognizing the silk stockings belonging to none other than Elka Doom and shoved her aside. Her yelp made a smirk etch into his cheek, finally making his way into the corridor, but before he could enjoy his solace, a hand snatched his shoulder.

“Bobby!” Elka shouted, her voice more shrill than the piano notes in Quentin's latest remix.

He made no effort to hide his disdain. He was so close to running off to his office for a break, but she had the nerve to interrupt him. Cracking his neck, he shoved his fork back into his cake, seething, “The hell do you want? Why are you floating in the middle of the stairs like a fucking ghoul?”

“Have you seen Nils?” she asked, lacing her fingers in front of her chest. He took in her strapless, muted green dress, a color she adored since childhood. She fiddled with the pearls around her neck, her pupils looking particularly wide. Bobby wondered if she injected herself with some hard drug.

He swallowed another bite of cake. “No. You know I hate that dickhead.”

“You haven't? Shit,” she whispered, her hand to her mouth. She tugged at her lower lip. “Crap, crap, I thought you would've seen him and Chloe.”

And just like that, the party went from fine but tiring to an absolute nightmare. The colors flashed and blinded him. His light blue skin flushed white as if he was trapped in a blizzard. His grip loosened on the plate, his fingers shaking. He dropped his fork on top of his cake. It bounced and landed next to his thumb, a few cookie crumbs shuddering so violently they flew off.

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward towards the shorter woman, hissing, “What the fuck do you mean Chloe was with Nils?”

She seemed nonplussed by his rage. Leveling her voice, she said, “I saw them together. They were by the bar, and then, they just-” She snapped her fingers. “-vanished.”

Panic squeezed his heart. He combed his fingers through his hair, sweat beginning to trickle down from his scalp. Taking in his breath, he asked, “When?”

“About ten minutes ago.” She continued fiddling with her pearls, looking up at him through her long, fake eyelashes. “Hey, didn't you two come together? Why'd you separate?”

_Oh, no._

Bobby chewed on the inside of his mouth. The gossip really was asking for his fist to slam through her jaw, but he restrained himself. He breathed deeply through his nose. Being baited was the last thing he wanted happening to him when he needed information.

“We went off to talk to different people. Last time I saw her, she was talking with some blond guy,” Bobby said, glancing at the array of people on the dance floor.

She quirked a thin eyebrow. “Some...blond guy.”

Pausing, Bobby mulled over what he said. Chloe was talking with “some blond guy” in a white and blue pinstripe suit. They were by the bar with him joining as soon as Bobby left to socialize after some gentle encouragement from her, Bobby having taken one quick look at him before getting swept up into that debate with Phoebe.

If Clem and Crystal were still doing their project, then he wanted to ask if he could join them because he suddenly felt like the stupidest twenty-six-year-old in the galaxy.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot! How could you let this happen?_ He threw the cake slice to the floor and stormed back down the staircase, Elka hot on his heels. His fists swung by his sides, parting through dancing agents who jumped back, his anger palpable. Elka was along for the ride, both of them knowing she was using him to get what she wanted.

“He's gonna try hooking up with her,” Elka said, fanning the flames. “I just know he is! He's been so desperate since I broke up with him. I mean, I keep ignoring his calls. He must be going after an innocent girl like Chloe. She isn't a fool, but oh, Nils, he can be so, I don't know, so Nils, you know?” She hurried to catch up to his longer strides, ignoring the irritated looks from other agents on the dance floor. She scratched her fingernails against his shoulder. “Wait, how could you let her go off on her own? You guys came together! That was so irresponsible of you, letting your date go off and-!”

“Shut up! Don't say anything stupid like that again or I'll strangle you with your own pearls!” Bobby barked back at her, and Elka clamped her lips shut. He raised his fists, his knuckles popping. “You don't gotta know nothin' about me and Chloe, got it? You just get your dickhead ex, and I'll get Chloe! And then, we're never gonna talk about this again!”

Elka huffed and nodded. Her reaction was all he needed for confirmation. Bobby dragged his hand down his face and pulled his cheeks. Here he was, barging through a party filled with a bunch of no-name, sweaty, drunk agents with music blasting all around him while he looked for his best friend and partner, who was more likely than not with one of the worst guys in the Psychonauts. Nothing else could have caused him more despair as his eyes dashed all around, Chloe nowhere in sight. Not even a quick telepathic message was returned, something which made his heart pound faster, when he wondered what Nils was doing with her. (At least, Bobby hated Nils with a fiery passion. If he went one more day with Nils asking Chloe if she wanted to ride his rocket ship at lunch, he was going to set the Motherlobe on fire, and not even Phoebe could help him with that.)

Coming out to the bar, which was really just another long table with too many bottles of alcohol and empty glasses, he avoided the glower of the bartender. Elka was better at gathering information, and he let her do the talking when she approached the bartender with a pink-lipped smile. He surveyed the other agents, hoping to find a glimpse of her satin bow or the pretty purple dress she wore or the leather jacket she borrowed from him when he noticed her shivering outside.

“I don't get paid to keep track of my customers,” the bartender said, wiping a glass with a towel.

Elka gripped her hips. “Oh, come on! They're not even your customers when the Psychonauts paid you to serve us! Can you at least tell me which way he went or if he left with this agent who wears a...” She sighed. “...a fishbowl?”

“It's a space helmet, and you know it! Fuck you!” Bobby shouted as he crouched, looking underneath the stools.

“Space helmet,” Elka deadpanned, her head bowing when the bartender shrugged. As Bobby got to his feet, she sighed. “Well, we have no leads.”

Cursing at himself, Bobby jerked his head around. Despite his height, the flashing colors made it difficult for him to make out anyone through the dance floor. There were too many limbs flying around. Bodies meshed and grinded, leaving him gnawing on his lower lip, his head swirling and pounding, hope dwindling in his chest as Elka shouted at him to do something.

“Oh, no one listens to me around here! I told you that the last shot was too much!”

_The nag!_

Smiling, Bobby had never been so happy to hear Phoebe's shrill voice behind him and spun around. She was only a yard away, Mikhail's arm looped over her shoulder, his face greener than hers. The sight would have made him bust a gut if anxiety hadn't completely overtaken him. Hurrying over to her and shoving a couple agents out of the way, he shouted, “Phoebe, I need help!”

“Of course! Everyone needs my goddamn help!” Phoebe snapped, Bobby flinching and taking a step back, Mikhail's eyes rolling in his head. She pursed her lips shut and pinched her fingers together, Bobby noticing a red tint burning in Mikhail's cheeks. Taking a breath, she leaned into Mikhail, letting him put more of his weight on to her. “Sorry, but can you make this quick? Mikhail and Maloof decided a game of beer pong in a conference room was really necessary tonight, and can you guess who lost?” Her smile tightened. “Can you guess, Bobby? Can you?”

“You lost at beer pong to that shrimp? Weak,” Bobby sneered, Mikhail trying his best to glare at him.

Elka sidled up next to Bobby, her arms wrapped behind her back. “Anyway, have you seen Chloe and Nils? They went off together,” she calmly asked, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

Mikhail gripped his head, his hat lopsided. Although his eyes swam in his skull, he managed to blink them into focusing on Bobby. “I saw them.”

“Oh, great, the drunk is going to tell us,” Elka mumbled.

“Shut up. A lead's a lead, ain't it?” Bobby hissed, elbowing her shoulder. Ignoring her scowl, he fiddled with his tie, asking, “Where'd you see 'em?”

“Upstairs right wing corridor before, no, after beer bong, er, beer pong game.” Mikhail tilted his head, and his hat fell off. He tried picking it up with telekinesis, but his TK hand couldn't grab it, saying, “Your spacey girlfriend was wobbling. He had her arm around shoulder.”

Elka sucked in a breath through her teeth. Her fists clenched at her sides. “Oh, that pig! He better not be taking advantage of Chloe. It feels like that Yoohoo stuff all over again.” She touched her chest, her anger swapping for annoyance. “I mean, I'd be so upset if he did something to her. It'd just be the nail in the coffin to our relationship.”

“Not the case,” Mikhail said, closing his eyes from the lights flashing around them. “Ah, she seemed sick. He looked worried, I think.”

Bobby's mouth fell open. His blood chilled in his veins. He cupped his jaw, his eyes scanning their footwear and Mikhail's hat. Panic whipped his backside, demanding he ignore the others, run off and get to her before anything could happen.

“But Nils is Nils. You know he can't be trusted with girls,” Elka flippantly replied. She twirled a loose lock of blonde hair. “When I broke up with him again, he immediately tried hitting on you, remember, Phoebe? He's probably going to do something to her.”

“Not really the point now, Elka,” Phoebe said, sighing, her brows furrowing. “Mikhail, are you sure you saw them together? You are kind of-”

“Am sure,” he insisted, glancing at the bar. “They sat at end stools. Then, minutes later...” He shrugged. “...left together with her leaning against him like we are now.”

Bobby's eyes snapped between them like bolts of lightning streaking across the sky. Their voices overlapped, Mikhail trying to recall what had happened between them, Elka demanding to know more, and Phoebe trying to mediate. His head pounded, his thoughts shuffling in disarray, attempting to comprehend Mikhail's claim and whether he should believe it or not.

She only turned twenty-one a few months ago. She wasn't experienced with alcohol like he was. He had his own brushes with death, a few overdoses too many in his darker days before he finally submitted to getting help.

Chloe didn't know how much was too much, and if Nils was with her, he feared the worst.

_Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. This isn't happening._

_Of course it is! Of course it is! Because you left her alone, crackhead! It's your fault!_

“Uh, you okay?” Mikhail asked, his tone soft, contrasting his sloppy appearance.

“Bobby?” Phoebe touched his shoulder, and that was the trigger.

Shoving past them, he lunged over Mikhail's hat and ran through the crowd. Punching and pushing everyone out of his way, Bobby sprinted like his life depended on it, like he was being chased by a psychopathic killer through a cornfield. People shouted at him, some trying to hit back, but he didn't care. All of his thoughts were focused on her, and if he needed to kick some loser intern out of the way, then he'd take the probation happily.

He stormed up the stairs, Quentin's palpable worry for him wringing his neck. He dashed down the corridor, leaving behind the pounding music and voices telepathically sneering at him. His pace was clumsy as he marched, and he cursed the beer for slowing his movement. Jumping, he only managed to lift a few inches off the ground, his thoughts swimming with vexation, before he plummeted back down, his toes curling inwards and tripping him.

Landing on his knees, Bobby slapped his cheeks. He hissed at himself to keep it together. She needed him. Him being an idiot who couldn't levitate wasn't what she needed.

_Moron! Just hide in some fucking corner right now if you can't get it together for her!_

Stumbling to his feet, Bobby gripped his elbows and continued hobbling forward. His eyes flicked left to right. From the open closet doors, to the locked offices, to the windows without curtains taken down as makeshift tablecloths, he took in everything. No detail was missed. He even spotted ants trailing in a neat line to the party, crumbs on their backs, and he crushed through them, splattering them like the roadkill in his youth. Glancing back at them, he shivered, his mind cruelly imagining her in that same mangled pose on the floor blood and beer dribbling down the corners of her mouth.

As Bobby turned another corner, he froze. His eyes widened, his lips spreading in a thin line like a pen across paper. His foot hovered in place. Although his heart pounded, his lungs refused to expand, and his vision swam, the chill overtaking him.

_Chloe._

“Hey, hey, oh, man, you are not in good shape,” Nils said, holding on to Chloe's shoulders. He had her against the wall near her office, staring up at her with an exasperated expression. “Can you, like, use telepathy? I mean, if you wanna give me the passcode to your phone, I'll call someone.” He reached into her pocket and took out her smartphone. “Are you sure you don't have your office keys on you? What about Bobby's? Aren't you guys, like, a thing by now?”

Chloe didn't reply, her helmet gone, her hand to her forehead.

“Aw, shit, where the hell is-oh!” Nils broke into a smile as soon as he saw Bobby stomping towards them. “I'm so glad you're here, bro. You gotta help me out here. The bartender fucked up Chloe's drink. I mean, she didn't even have that much, but, uh, fuck, dude. That shot really messed her up.”

His eyes locked on to Chloe's face. He didn't hear a word of Nils' rambling, his fear morphing in to concern as he approached her. His heart pounded so loudly that the blood rushing in his head blocked out Nils' voice.

“I dunno, it was some sort of Russian vodka. I think that was meant for somebody else, not her.” Nils tugged at his collar. “Chloe drank it, and she started getting all loose and weary. I think she has a weak constitution to that stuff or something? I mean, she's not overly plastered. She didn't even have that much. Might just be a wicked bad migraine, but anyway, so, I got her to her office, but Jesus, trying to get her to walk was-”

“Shut up,” Bobby ordered, pushing him to the side. Snatching Chloe's phone from him, he pocketed it. He stood in front of Chloe, staring up at her half-lidded eyes. The once vibrant emerald irises dulled. He set his thumb to her neck, her pulse fluttering rapidly against him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he whispered, “Chloe, can you hear me? It's Bobby. I'm here.”

As Nils shifted in place, Chloe blinked. Her violet, faintly glittery eyeshadow brought light back to her eyes. She raised her head, and it lolled to the side. Bobby didn't think twice about holding her cheek, keeping her head steady as she raised her gaze to him, the eye contact almost too much for him, her gaze captivating him just as it always had.

“Bobby,” she breathed out his name, her rosy red lipstick making her mouth appear fuller. He couldn't help noticing that with how close they were, his heart skipping a beat as she reached up and cupped his hand.

Nils glanced between them, awkwardly interjecting, “Okay, uh, seems like you got it from here, Bobby.”

His hand lunged out and snatched Nils' collar. As he yelped, Bobby growled, “Find her helmet.”

“Her...” Nils scrutinized his command with the most irritation he could muster on his face. All Bobby wanted to do was punch his lights out when he said, “Dude, that's not helping. You must be outta your mind if you think a helmet is gonna cure a future hangover.”

“Listen to me, limp dick.” He paused when Chloe chuckled. Profanity never made her laugh before. He decided her inebriation affected her sense of humor. “Find that helmet and keep it on you 'til tomorrow.” He tightened his grip, choking him. “If you don't, then I'm gonna gut you in half, tie your intestines to your testicles and tear 'em all out.”

“Fuck, dude, fine! Don't go Freddy on my ass.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What a way to end the year. Not even gonna get laid,” Nils grumbled. He wobbled when Bobby pushed him and managed to catch his footing. Glaring at them, his expression softened when he looked at Chloe, and Bobby wondered if he actually felt guilty for what happened because he hurried off without another word.

Breathing out through his mouth, Bobby turned back to Chloe. Words formed in his mind and refused to leave. He wanted to ask her if she was okay, but that was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't. One glance at her faintly red cheeks, the smattering of sweat on her brow, and the slow shifting of her eyes, and anyone could tell she was ready to collapse.

He settled for quietly asking, “What happened?”

“I...” She rubbed her throat, Bobby looking at her faded pink nail polish. “I messed up.”

“No, no, you didn't. If Nils is sayin' that bartender messed up the drinks, then it's her fault,” he said, setting his hands on her shoulders. He remembered a time when he didn't have the courage to do even that and shook his head. “Look, can you tell me what you had? Nils said you had a shot and...what else?”

“She just kept...” Chloe vaguely gestured, her wrists rolling. “...throwing, no, sliding drinks our way. I kept-I kept ignoring them while Nils had more. I think she was annoyed...or something that I only had-” She stared at her hand and slowly extended her fingers. “-two small cups worth of...something, I think. She said I was wasting time sitting there when she had other people waiting for orders.” Her thumbs rubbed against her fingertips. “She put that shot in front of me, and I thought it was-it was fine, so, I drank it.”

Rage raced through his bloodstream. That hag knew exactly what she had done. She must have done something to that last shot, and now, Chloe was slumping against a wall, her words beginning to slur. The temptation to fling himself back into the party to throttle the bartender with his bare hands electrified his thoughts, and only by grinding down on his molars was he able to keep himself grounded.

After all, Chloe needed him more than that bartender needed an ass-whooping.

“Bobby,” Chloe began, breaking him out of his vengeful thoughts.

“Yeah? Yeah, what is it?” he quickly implored, watching her close her eyes and breathe in slowly through her nose.

“I think-I think I need to-” She flapped her hand, Bobby trying to grasp the meaning of her gesture. Rubbing her arm, she said, “I think I need to go home.”

“Oh, oh, yeah, we can go.” He bobbed his head up and down. “I'll take you home. You, uh, got everything? I got your phone from Nils.”

She reached for her head, her eyes widening. A gasp escaped her. The looseness of her neck made Bobby grimace when she jerked her head from side to side.

“Your helmet, um, fuck, I dunno where that is. I told Nils to find it,” Bobby said, reassuring her when she traced the invisible outline of her helmet. He squeezed her shoulders. “He'll find it, and we'll get it back tomorrow or the next day.”

Chloe stared at him as if not understanding. Bobby shuffled to her side, taking in her full appearance. Her dress was a cool shade of mauve which reached her knees and matched her heels, adding another inch to her height. The material was sleek and smooth, something he couldn't entirely place. His worn leather jacket seemed too large and bulky on her taller, thinner frame, but something about her wearing it made his heart leap for joy despite the situation. She had been cold outside, and he gave it to her without thinking, putting it around her before she could protest, but the small smile on her face was worth it.

“I'm sorry,” she said, looking at her heels.

Bobby took her arm and wrapped around his shoulders. “Don't be. Ain't your fault. It never is, okay?” He smiled at her, hoping it would ease her worry.

The way her mouth tried twitching upwards was probably the best reassurance he would get from her. She leaned into him, tucking her head closer to his hair. Holding her wrist, Bobby kept his free arm outstretched, feeling stupid for keeping it in the air before telling himself to put it around her waist to keep her steady. His arm disobeyed his mind, staying still, but a few sharp reprimands from the voice in the back of his head forced it to move and pull her into him.

“I'm gonna teleport us to your place. I can come back tomorrow for my ride,” he announced, and she nodded, locking eyes with him. He glanced at the floor, the carpet suddenly captivating him.

Setting two fingers to his temple, he closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could on her apartment. It was nicer and more spacious than his, her place feeling more like home than his ever could. Clean white walls decorated in star maps, blueprints, and designs. Orderly shelving with her clothes and sometimes his neatly folded. Food organized in the fridge and cupboards, a stark contrast to the nightmare that was his childhood trailer's kitchen. Comfortable, practical furniture, including a deep violet couch with two soft pillows he usually slept on whenever he stayed with her after a tiring mission, even if that couch had scratches from when Bobby brought Leatherface over to play with his second favorite person.

Raising his hand with the picture of her apartment in mind, he squeezed his eyes shut and threw it down. Weightlessness surrounded him as if he was falling from the sky without a parachute. It lasted only a second, his boots hitting her paved hardwood floor and forcing his eyes open. Bobby quickly looked around, reassuring himself he did take her to the right apartment and went to grin at her only for his face to fall.

Chloe groaned, her hands clutching her forehead. She doubled forward, held up only by Bobby tightening his grip on her waist. She tumbled back into him, failing to see the way hot red streaked across his face. Grabbing his sleeve, she wearily lifted her head and stared at him.

“Couch, uh, the couch, let's-let's get you sittin' down,” Bobby stupidly blurted. He pulled her along, his hand covering hers, and helped her sit down. He positioned one of the pillows behind her back as she continued rubbing her temples. He turned away, digging his knuckles between his pectorals and cursed himself for being so ignorant. Of course teleportation would have an adverse affect on her. If she was having a migraine, then her body was susceptible to strong changes in motion. All he could do was hope she wouldn't vomit or if she had to puke, then he hoped it would wait until morning.

He hurried over to her kitchen and searched for bread. He pushed aside a half eaten bag of pretzels and cereal boxes, spotting a bag of whole wheat bagels tucked behind an unopened package of catnip for Leatherface. Tearing it open, he knew he didn't have time to put it in the toaster when he heard her groaning, a sound which made him suck down a breath and hate himself even more.

“Here, eat this,” he said, coming back to her and putting the bagel in her hand. “Bread absorbs booze. Helped me a lot when I drank too much.” Sitting next to her, he reached into his hair and pulled out a bottle of water. He placed it by her side. He watched her quietly munch through the bagel, her eyes focusing on some spot he couldn't make out on the floor. Chewing on the cuticle on his pinky finger, he asked, “Uh, are you okay? Can I-can I-ya need anything else?”

Leaning back, Chloe tucked her chin to her chest. She ran her fingers along the bagel, a few grains flinging off onto her lap. Taking another bite, she straightened her back, not noticing Bobby glancing at her bare shoulders when his jacket slipped off and then glowering at his hands.

“I'm sorry,” Chloe whispered, Bobby's eyes widening.

“I'm tellin' ya, it's not your fault,” he replied, reaching over and touching her shoulder. He pressed his thumb to her clavicle, the hardness of her bone notable against her soft, lightly freckled skin. He edged closer, his mind hissing to let her go.

Chloe looked up, letting him see how wet her eyes were as she took another bite. Bobby pulled his hand back and stuffed it between his thighs. She took in deep breaths through her flaring nostrils, appearing like she was holding in each one, her gaze holding fast on the smoke detector above her.

“Chloe, really, it's not your fault,” he insisted, pushing up his glasses. “Bartender fucked up. She was wrong. You weren't.”

“I should've known better. You don't sit at a bar and waste someone's time,” she mumbled, shoving the rest of the bagel in her mouth. She chewed slowly, her jaw shifting and reminding him of one of JT's horses. Swallowing, Chloe cupped the water bottle, the plastic crinkling.

 _Do something, dipshit,_ he snarled at himself, _You can't sit there slack-jawed like an idiot for the rest of the night. Do something!_

“I wanted to do something,” Chloe said, closing her eyes. A quiet hiccup made her quiver.

Bobby flinched. She was the strongest telepath in the Psychonauts. He feared she read his thoughts and quickly put up his mental defenses.

“With you,” she added, tilting her head as she looked at him.

“Wi-with me? But we went to the party,” Bobby said, imitating her posture. He tried wracking his brain for anything they could have done together. They got food and shared a bit of wine to help him ease into the party. They talked with people. She even got him on the dance floor after a little coaxing, his two left feet nearly tripping over her. Itching his scalp, he asked, “What was it? Uh, I dunno what else we could've done. I mean, I had a good time, and I think you look great.”

She jerked towards him, her eyes wider than normal. “You think so? And you had fun?”

It was so sudden, he didn't have time to move back. He smelled alcohol on her breath, the scent of it oddly fruity. He assumed the bartender mixed her mostly wines and spritzers before the shot which pushed her over the edge.

“I, uh, yeah,” he tried, trying to ease confidence in his voice. He nodded. “Yeah, I know so, and I had fun.”

Chloe settled back into the cushion, her expression mystifying him. It was like all of her worry suddenly evaporated. He couldn't sense any distress left in her. It was almost as if his words took away her pain, which he told himself was stupid, that she was still suffering the effects of a bad shot.

“I'm gonna freshen up,” she said, slowly standing up, She kicked off her heels, sending them towards a corner of her apartment. “Can you do me a favor?” At his nod, she turned around and pointed at the zipper on her back.

He blinked. _Huh?_

“My hands feel kind of shaky. Can you unzip me?”

His brain failed to process her request. He continued sitting on the couch until a series of pots and pans started banging together in the back of his mind. Bristling from head to toe, he thanked his lucky stars she didn't see how far his mouth dropped open and how his face turned a deep shade of purple.

But she needed him. He couldn't say no, especially not to a simple request like that. He tried ignoring the treacherous thoughts forming in his head, mechanically pushing himself off the couch. Standing behind her, he raised his hand towards the gray zipper on the back of her dress. Gnawing on his lower lip, he pinched the zipper and averted gazing at her bare back and shoulder blades as he slowly pulled it down, the sound of the metal clasps parting like nails on a chalkboard.

She stepped away as soon as it hit the small of her back. Smiling, she thanked him and pressed the fabric to her chest. He remained silent, her shadow moving away as she headed to her bathroom. As soon as the door shut behind her, Bobby collapsed on the couch and buried his face in his hands, his eyes wide as he stared through the spaces of his fingers.

 _Goddammit, I can't even do something as simple as that without thinking like a freak,_ he growled, the sound of water running coming from the bathroom.

_Of course you can't. You're you._

Taking off his glasses, he rubbed the lenses against his shirt. Noticing they were still smothered in fingerprints, he groaned and shoved them back on his face. He hunched forward, his arms hanging limply off his legs, and he felt extra weight in his pocket. Reaching into it, he pulled out Chloe's phone and tapped the home button, watching the screen light up with text messages from other friends asking if she was alright.

 _I bet they think I'm doing something to her,_ he thought bitterly only to shake his head. _No. Stop that, dumb fuck. You're gonna make things worse for her if you start acting out now. She needs you._

_It's true though. You always do._

“Shut up,” he mumbled, rolling onto his side. He telekinetically ripped off his boots, throwing them behind the couch without a single fuck given. Setting her phone on his chest, he picked up her water bottle and tossed it in the air only to miss it on its way down. He cringed when it hit his chin and pressed into his neck. Staying quiet, he closed his eyes and wondered what it would have been like to die on her couch.

He didn't have to wait long when the shower suddenly shut off. Glancing at the door, he pushed his legs off the armrest and sat upright. He heard her faucet run and assumed she was brushing her teeth. He set her phone and water bottle on the mahogany coffee table, a gift from her mother when she moved into her own place. Drumming his fingers on his knee, Bobby took out his own phone and frowned, the many missed text messages from Phoebe asking about Chloe only furthering his annoyance.

'How is she?' 'Where are you now?' 'We found Nils. He said you told him to look for her helmet. Is that wise right now?' 'Bobby, what is going on?' 'I don't like that I haven't heard from you, especially when you gave us all a big scare.'

That last word drew out a scowl on his face. He tapped the keyboard, many insults writhing in his thoughts. But he knew that would only cause a fight, one Chloe didn't need when she was recovering, and Phoebe was only worried about their mutual friend. If he were a couple years younger, he probably would have tried killing her for doubting him, the truth making him gnaw on the inside of his mouth.

'peachy fuckin keen at her place dont worry bout us when ya got like twenty other babies to look after bye' was what he settled for texting. He quickly shut his phone off just as the gray bubble signifying she was replying appeared on his screen.

The bathroom door opened. His muscles tensed. He could only lift his eyes at her, taking in what she was wearing. He tried comprehending the situation as she came over to him and said the bathroom was all his if he wanted to shower. Bobby clearly saw her rounder face now free of makeup, her mouth in a tiny grin, her eyes still sparkling without the eyeshadow, but then his gaze lowered, fixated on something he couldn't fathom.

Chloe didn't own a jet black T-shirt with a skull graphic decorating the front. The striped purple and pink pajama shorts were certainly hers, but that shirt was something he had only seen on one other person.

“That's...that's my shirt,” Bobby managed to say, Chloe pulling at the hem of it when he pointed it out.

“True. You know how you stay here for the night sometimes?” When he nodded, she chuckled, a hint of pink on her cheeks. “A few weeks ago when you stayed over after the Galapagos Island mission, you left your clothes here, and they got mixed in with my laundry. I decided to wear it to bed one night, and I've been wearing it ever since. It's rather comfortable.”

“I-izzat so?” he blurted, his words rushing out, his smile forced. “H-hahaha! Th-then, keep it! It looks, y'know, it looks nice on ya. Whatever helps you sleep at night and all that stuff.” He hurried off the couch, keeping his nose to the grindstone as he marched towards her bathroom, saying, “I'll be out in a few minutes.”

“Your clothes-” she called before he could shut the door, “-are also in there.”

“My...clothes?” He looked at the bathroom counter, her soaps, toothpastes, and products all neatly organized in rows. An extra toothbrush was set next to hers, making his brain buzz with delight better than any drink could. A laundry basket with clean towels and clothes were in the closet to his right. But what caught his attention was the small stack of his clothes on the corner of the counter. A plain black shirt and shorts in his size, which he recognized from his apartment, but what made his cheeks flush a painfully brilliant red were the dark blue boxers peeking out from underneath his shirt.

“Bobby, it's okay. You don't have to scream,” Chloe said, Bobby silencing his mental breakdown in an instant. She rubbed her forehead. “Like I said, they got in my laundry, so I did them.”

“Oh! Oh, oh, yeah, uh, my bad, I'll just-” Bobby scurried into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him, mercifully cutting himself off. He pursed his lips tightly shut and glared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, a hot scarlet much like his eye. Sweat beaded his brow, and he looked worse than Chloe did when her back was against the wall. Covering his mouth, he bit down on his finger, almost piercing through his skin, his mind a wreck as he tried coming to terms with what was happening.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid._

He chanted to himself as he showered, the steam fogging everything around him. He banged his head against the tiled wall, wishing the water was hot enough to melt his skin clean off so he could dribble down the drain.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid._

It was only a few minutes in her shower, but it felt like a lifetime. He didn't want to look at the clean clothes she left out for him. Using her toothpaste and the extra toothbrush she set out for him darkened his mood. It only made him think they were actually together. That was something couples did while they were just good friends, best friends, Psychonauts who were rarely spotted without the other at HQ, “life partners” from what Kitty sneered at him before their mission in Chile four months ago.

_Spacey girlfriend. Go to hell, Mikhail._

He dressed himself in the clothes she folded neatly for him and brushed his teeth afterwards. His fiery orange hair, tangled and wet, draped over his shoulder in a long tail. He didn't towel it, letting it dry on its own, nothing else left in there to fall out. Taking one of the hair ties from a straw basket left on the top of her toilet, possibly left there by Lili or Milka when either one visited, he tied the ends together and flung it behind his back, a few locks twisting and knotting, and he didn't care.

Chloe grinned as he came back to the couch. “Oh, good, you're out of there.”

“All clean,” he said, sitting next to her, the noise of the television a thankful distraction. “What's on?”

“Ten New Year's Eve parties on different channels vying for viewership,” she replied, Bobby chuckling.

Bobby rolled his shoulders back and threw his arms behind the couch. “Hey, you ain't slurring that much. Maybe it passed.”

She massaged her temples. “I had two aspirins when you were showering. I do feel a bit lightheaded, but I'm doing better because of you.”

“Oh, that's-” He frowned. “Me? Nah, I didn't do nothin' special. Just happened to be at the right place at the right time. That's all.”

She sighed. “That's not all you did. You took me home and helped me. I think that's something special.”

“I mean, of course I'd do that,” he said, his voice pitching, almost cracking like it would when he was a kid pleading with the other trailer park gremlins to leave him alone. Slumping in his seat as she observed him, he telekinetically took the remote control from her armrest and flipped through the channels. He tried thinking of anything else to say, her quizzical expression still focused entirely on him even when he found a New Year's Eve concert showing one of her favorite rappers.

“Bobby.”

Even the way she said his name made him repress a shiver. It was simple and soft-spoken. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, his heart beating a little faster.

“There's still that thing I wanted to do with you.” She brushed through her buzzcut. “First, I want to know something.”

“Yeah, what's up?” He dropped the remote between them.

“What are we?”

The world crashed around him and shattered like a fist going through glass. Even her body split up, distorted and maimed. The air was sucked out of the room, and he couldn't breathe. He felt tethered to the couch as if he would sink through it and fall forever, his mind entirely blank while he stared at her.

“What are...we?” Repeating her question was all he could do when his mouth felt so dry.

Chloe glanced at her hand and then, she set it on his bare knee. It took all of his willpower not to jerk away, to let it simply happen. He stared at her hand, focusing on the faintly blue veins bleeding through her pale skin.

“I...” An uncharacteristic uncertainty washed over her, one he could sense. Her chest heaved when she took a sharp breath. “I want to hear what you think about us.”

His vision crossed, and gravity weighed heavily on his shoulders. There wasn't a day that had gone by without him thinking about them and what they could be. He was happy with what they shared, but he knew there was a part of him which still desired more, a part which had tormented him since he was an ignorant kid following behind her in Whispering Rock.

_What I think? Why are you asking me that? Why now?_

_Why the fuck wouldn't she be asking, idiot? She wants to know._

“Because I...” Her shoulders raised, her usual confidence etching in her features. She shone so brightly like the stars they watched together on the darkest nights. “...have been thinking about us lately.”

“What I think?” he asked aloud, all his doubt and twisted feelings stabbing into him like knives gouging through flesh.

_We've been together for a long time. I've known you since we were kids._

_And stayed away from her for even longer, dipshit. How much pain you wanna cause her now? Can't even give her an answer?_

_Isn't it fine like this? We're together. That's fine. It's fine._

_What the hell is fine? Tell her! Get her, and she's yours!_

Disjointed voices, all his own, tortured his thoughts. A cacophony of noise worse than Quentin's music played in his head. They were all him, all different ages, seething and raging against him. In his mind's eye, he could have sworn he saw that obsessive twelve-year-old standing behind her pointing and laughing at him and that morbid seventeen-year-old staying away from her in a corner with his bandaged, bloodied eye and glaring at him.

She still wouldn't break eye contact. She gave him all of her attention as if it was the most important thing in the world to her.

“Ten!”

He flinched, his neck cracking as his head swiveled to the television. The countdown to the New Year started in some city square he couldn't place. People threw up their hands, the celebrity announcer putting down his fingers with each number.

“Nine!”

“Ch-Chloe,” he mumbled, “th-the truth is-I mean, that's, I-I-I-”

“Eight!”

_I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this. You're too close to me._

“Seven!”

“I-I don't really kn-know what to say-”

“Six!”

_I'm me. I'm gonna ruin it. I'll hurt you, I know I will._

“Five!”

“-b-because, because I-”

“Four!”

“-I-I-why are you-”

“Three!”

“-coming so close to me?”

“Two!”

_I could've gone my whole life like this if you'd let me, and that would've been fine with me._

“One!”

“Chloe-!”

As the year started anew, she grabbed his face and pressed her lips against his.

Bobby's eyes bulged, his glasses twisting upwards as she leaned into him. Her fingers threaded through his wet curls. Heat spread throughout his entire body, his mind blanking only to suddenly hyper-focus on every detail about her. Her lips were warm and smaller than his with a faint hint of vanilla on them, the taste of her favorite chapstick. Her hands were sturdy around the base of his head, her fingers pressing into his scalp to steady him when he quaked, feeling like he was burning alive by a simple, chaste kiss.

She took a breath and parted from him, leaving him lingering for more. The voices on the television surged back with cheers, cutting through the static noise in Bobby's brain. She kept her hands behind his head, her body pressed against his, her heartbeat nestled by his.

“That's what I wanted to do with you tonight,” she whispered, setting her forehead to his, “because I've really been thinking about us, Bobby.”

Bobby breathed out her name, his hands rising. He willed himself to set them to her waist, and he did, he actually did. He cupped her waist and let his fingers trail behind her back, feeling her ridges of her spine. He hoped his breathing wasn't too hot when it hit her face, and he pursed his lips tightly shut, his lungs refusing to expand.

“I know this is sudden,” she said, refusing to break eye contact, “and if I'm assuming wrong, then tell me.”

Bobby's heart couldn't stop pounding. It felt like the Chestburster was thudding between his rib cage and trying to break free. He felt like a supernova with how quickly his blood pumped in his veins. Her weight on him made him realize how light she was. She had always been thin, he had known that from carrying her on missions when she was injured or tired or when they were campers and she twisted her ankle over an uprooted tree trunk, but this was different.

This was the intimacy he wanted to experience for years and repressed, sentencing it to the bitterest part of thoughts.

Chloe slowly pulled her hands to the front of his face and rested them on his cheeks, sending a fluttery sensation down to the tips of Bobby's toes. She leaned back so she could speak clearly. “You are, undoubtedly, my best friend. I don't want anything ruining that, but lately, well, more like within the past few months, I've been viewing you in a different light.” She stroked his cheekbones with her thumbs. “I, well, we've always been close. There wasn't a moment I shared with you that I didn't cherish.”

The temptation to pinch himself grew stronger. She was talking like she would in one of his dreams. If their surroundings were different, like if they were in a cozy spaceship or nestled in the woods, he could have believed it was just that.

“But after some contemplation and close calls on missions, I realized that I started feeling very strongly for you. You know, a feeling which went beyond friendship.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “So, I know this is sudden, and you must be shocked, but I think, um...” Her confidence wavered, his blank expression throwing her off. “I think-I think you feel...similarly?” She tucked her hands to her stomach and fiddled with the hem of her shirt, his silence digging in to her resolve. “At least, I'm assuming you feel that way because of some things I overheard you thinking without meaning to, and it made me-it made me think about you and realize that, and I just-! I-!” She fidgeted, her eyes darting to his chest and the pillows before she willed herself to look him in the eyes. “And-and, um, can you...say something, Bobby?”

He wanted to. Every brain cell screamed at him to say anything, but his throat clogged. He thought it was his heart worming its up his esophagus and promptly sticking itself there.

This was actually happening. It wasn't a dream or a nightmare. He was awake, and she was with him, and he heard every word she said. She confessed to him, his whole body feeling so light and so heavy at the same time, confusing his innards and making them squirm against each other. He wanted to vomit and eat simultaneously, empty gaps and sharp fullness puncturing through his stomach and guts. He felt like he could have levitated right up to the stars, but gravity pinned him to the couch, reality squeezing his forearms like chains. Breathlessness suddenly turned sharp and quick, causing him to gasp in air while she stared at him like he was gravely injured, her face long with shock.

“Bobby, Bobby, are you okay?” she asked, her voice pitching as he shuddered so violently that PSI energy started crackling around his head.

He heard everything she said, and the world blurred in the blink of an eye.

And then, the dam maintaining his resistance, repression, and all of his emotions exploded.

“B-Bobby?” she yelped, flinching and jerking back.

His wailing overpowered all other sounds. He sobbed like he had been beaten up in front of the entire trailer park. His hands slapped over his face, and his back hunched, forming a hump in his spine just under his neck. If his hair was still up in that wild afro of his, it would have hit Chloe square in the face when he ducked down. Veins pressed against his brow, his head pounding like he had too much to drink, ready to pass out and die in some ditch in the middle of nowhere.

He knew she deserved better than him. It was something he acknowledged years ago. She was smart and kind and driven. She gave him a purpose when he was dragging his feet back in summer camp, one that stayed with him for years even when they lost touch. She was everything he wanted, and he thought that someone like him didn't have the right to even be in her presence even on his best days. He was aware of his ugliness, his wide nose with notable pores, his upper lip pushing over his lower lip like some kind of deep sea fish, the scars on his face and body from fights, the way his right eye was in a slight perpetual squint because of a belt buckle his father struck him with when he was turning around. Someone like him should have been sulking in the dark while the sun shined down on her.

But here she was saying she wanted to be with him, and he couldn't understand why.

He hiccuped into his hands. Disgust punched him in the gut as snot dribbled on his palms. He grabbed his glasses and tossed them on the table, not caring if the lenses chipped or if the nose guards fell off. Hiding his pathetic expression, Bobby wished he could have died right then and there rather than let her see him in such a wretched position, one she didn't need to see when she had just made him the happiest person in the entire universe.

“Bobby,” she said, the same level of conviction in her voice, “look at me.”

He quaked, the cushion next to him slipping out of place and falling on the floor. His head twisted left to right then back again. Bobby felt her fingers pressing on his hands and trying to get to his palms. He tensed his wrists, preventing her from pulling his hands from his face. Guilt chomped down on his stomach and ripped off a chunk of him when she sighed, her concern stronger than anything else he felt in his life. Uncurling his fingers, he let her guide his hands away from his face and set them on his thighs.

Without his glasses, his surroundings blurred around him. Her ceiling lights became round, foggy pulses. Everything that was once shaped in her room softened and meshed together.

But not her. Even through his tears, he saw her perfectly. The temptation to glance away tugged at his eyes, but he willed himself to keep his gaze on her.

She massaged his palm with her thumb and used the back of her other hand to wipe his eyes. The softness of her hand made him ache for more. She paused by his nose and pointed at his shirt, gesturing for him to do it himself. Heat burned in his face as he obeyed, a sudden wave of stupidity washing over him as she observed him, her mouth creasing downwards.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Chloe said, cupping his cheek. She squeezed his hand, reminding him of the first time she put her hand in his at the docks. “But why did you start crying?”

“Be-because, because I-” Bobby shakily raised his hand and set it over hers. He rested his thumb atop hers. “It's not-it's not your fault. You have no, no, no idea how-I mean-” He grit down on his molars. “I'm not dreaming, right? Tell me I'm awake.”

“You're awake,” she replied, tilting her head.

“I'm awake. I am awake,” he muttered, swallowing hard.

She brushed a stray lock of hair which had plastered on to his brow back. She smoothed his forehead with her palm, saying, “This was too sudden. I'm sorry.”

“No, no, that's-” He croaked out, but her phone vibrated, mercifully cutting through his stammering. He tried glancing at it, but Chloe shifted her arm, blocking her phone out of his view. “Shouldn't you-shouldn't you answer that?”

“Whoever it is can learn patience,” Chloe said, annoyance on the tip of her tongue when it vibrated again and jostled on her table.

“What if, uh, what if it's important? A lot of people were texting ya, y'know, like um, oh-” He broke into a shaky grin. “-what if Nils found your helmet?”

Her eyes widened and then screwed into a sharp glare. Palpable frustration sparked inside her, the air heating up around them. Bobby grimaced, watching her break away to grab her phone and the remote control. She kept her eyes on him as she dug her fingers into both power buttons. The phone vibrations and cheering on the television ceased in an instant, the thudding of both devices pounding on the table making him lose color in his face.

“I think,” she said evenly, “this is more important than my helmet.”

She was right. His excuses renewed the red in his freckled, scarred cheeks. He rubbed his neck, stress and anxiety punching the back of his skull. Leaning into the armrest, Bobby mumbled an apology, her expression softening considerably at that.

“It's not your fault,” Chloe insisted. “I'm the one who kissed you without asking. I'm to blame.” She inched away from him, the distance feeling like a mile to him. “I feel like Elka.”

“No, don't say that. You ain't her,” Bobby quickly said. “If you were Elka, you'd, I dunno, you'd be trying to date some other guy to make me jealous or something.”

She shook her head. “Poor JT.”

The memory of little JT being strung around Elka made him quirk his lips into a lopsided grin. He watched her take his glasses and offer them to him. Before he could take them, she leaned forward and slid them on his face, carefully setting them at the bridge of his nose.

He felt oddly calm. He didn't know why, but it suddenly came over him. The silence in her apartment, countered only by cars and people outside in the city, felt strangely right.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, and he nodded, toying with his ponytail.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm-I'm sorry. That was pretty goddamn stupid of me,” he muttered. “Hell, who fuckin' cries when the girl they've loved for years kisses 'em? That's pathetic.”

Her head shot up. He stared at her over the rim of his glasses. His words ran laps in both of their heads. Bobby looked at her, his expression blank only for his hand to swiftly clap over his mouth, horror beseeching every atom of his body while her mouth fell open.

_Oh, fuck!_

“'Years?'” Chloe repeated. “How many 'years' are we talking about?”

“I mean-! It ain't-!”

“Are we talking about since I joined the Psychonauts?”

“That's-! You-!”

“Or longer than that?”

“I just don't wanna ruin what we got, okay?” he shouted, throwing his arms out. When she stared at him, her hands awkwardly raised in front of her chest, he sighed. Anxiety chilled him to the bone, but he couldn't hide it anymore. It was out there in the open because of a casual slip of the tongue. He tugged on his ponytail, wrapping hairs which felt like straw through his fingers and said, “Chloe, I don't wanna fuck up. I mean, I don't wanna fuck us up. If I said somethin' sooner, I dunno, I just didn't wanna ruin...” He flicked his finger between them. “...this, what we got now.”

Bobby's repetitions only made him want to punch himself in the face. He tugged his hair, the harsh pull soothing in the worst way. Knowing himself too well, he knew he'd find some way to royally ruin everything between them. He built himself up after falling too far and even hid away from her for years to prevent himself from dragging her down with him. To him, the biggest sin he could have committed was relapsing and yanking her down the same awful hole he dug himself.

Chloe watched him lower his hands back into his lap. Sighing, she said, “All this time later and you're still unkind to yourself.”

Bobby grunted, “What're you sayin'? 'Unkind?'”

“You've made a lot of progress in taking care of yourself and watching your behavior. You've taken necessary steps towards that...” She cupped his hands, smiling. “...and I'm happy for you, but you're reprimanding yourself for something you think you'll do when you haven't done it. Right now, it's only a thought in your head, and you're loathing yourself for it.”

He blinked, not fully understanding what she meant. Ever since he was a little kid, dreadful thoughts crept up on him. They played on his impulses and directed his limbs and mouth to go on the attack. There were many years when he thoroughly enjoyed indulging in making others howl in pain or stare at him with tears brimming in their shiny eyes, but now, those thoughts only jabbed at him. It took all of his willpower not to listen to them and their own truths, which made him sweat and freeze, their words harsher when he refused.

Hurting Chloe was his biggest fear. It always lingered in his heart and mind that he would do something so irreversibly damaging to her that she would finally want to stay away from him. Isolating himself from her for years had been painful, and he told himself that was the right choice, urged on by those thoughts that he would injure her if she wasn't his. Those years were some of the worst of his life, drowning himself in booze and misery, comforted by his thoughts sneering that he was making the right choices. Destroying himself and others were fine so long as she wasn't one of his victims, so long as he cut off every opportunity she had to communicate with him by changing phone numbers, deleting emails, and strengthening his mental defenses when she tried telepathically reaching him.

But everyone had their breaking point, and Bobby had shattered that. Waking up in a hospital bed with too many IVs to count piercing his skin and tubes stuffed down his throat had been such a harsh reality check. Driving too fast in the early morning hours of twilight, too drunk to tell left from right, almost killing himself when he was twenty-one forced him to recognize the truth he'd been ignoring.

Seeing her bolt into his too sterile hospital after years of yearning and isolation, feeling her fingernails digging into his shoulder, shouting something he couldn't hear while his face was wrapped in bandages and doctors demanding she leave, it finally made him realize how far he had gone by listening to every impulse he had.

He never wanted to put her in that position ever again, but he told himself it would happen. She would have paid the price somehow because of him. Hiding himself and his feelings, burying them down so she wouldn't sense that, and just being in her presence while he recovered over the years, he told himself that was all he needed. (Phoebe didn't believe that for a goddamn second during their first few sessions, and he knew that.)

Chloe was right in front of him, and he wasn't hurting her. Her hands were over his. He didn't sense any inkling of pain or suffering from her. Just a pleasant calmness, sympathy only for him swelling inside her.

He wanted to burst into tears again but settled for quietly asking, “But what if I do somethin' so bad it ruins everything?”

“Then, I'll help you through it,” she said, sliding her hands on his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace, “because that's what we deserve.”

He sat there, stunned. The world was rebuilding itself around him, the pieces sliding back into place. There wasn't a single thought in his head telling him to stop. He wasn't sure if he felt whole, but it was the start to some emotion he couldn't place. Bowing his head on the crook of her neck, Bobby lugged his arms around her and kept her close. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in her warmth and the cotton fabric of his shirt on her.

“You really are an alien,” he whispered, “'cause you're too good to be human.”

Her hands roamed along his back as she said, “Aliens do have a better grasp at these kind of things, I suppose, but we both know I'm human.”

“Hey, Chloe?”

“Yes?” When he remained quiet, she leaned back and asked, “What is it, Bobby?”

As soon as his name left her, Bobby cupped her face and kissed her. It was chaste but still made his face burn all the way to his ears. He felt her mouth perk into a smile, her hands setting on his chest, as she broke from the kiss to pepper his face with lighter pecks, quick presses of her lips to his nose, cheeks, and forehead that made his mouth twist in a lopsided, goofy grin like the lovestruck fool he was, her excitement making his heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird.

“You're so good, Bobby,” she said, making herself quite comfortable in his lap as he leaned back into the armrest. She set her head to his chest and listened to his heartbeat, giggling only to pause. She looked down at the couch, realizing neither of them were sitting on it anymore, Bobby levitating them both a solid foot in the air. “Oh, we're floating. What an interesting reaction.”

Bobby ran his fingers along her scalp, earning a purr in return. He couldn't stop smiling. He crossed his legs in the air, tucking her to his chest and feeling like he was on Cloud Nine. Glee bubbled in his chest, rippling like carbonation in his favorite soda and kept him afloat with her in his arms. Not a single negative thought interrupted them, his delight and adoration for her overpowering the cruelty lingering in his mind.

“Chloe,” he murmured, cradling the back of her head. When she glanced up at him, a light chuckle left him. “I just wanted to say your name.”

She cupped her hand under her chin as if deep in thought. “I see.” Looping one of his loose, orange curls around her finger, she said, “Bobby.”

Bobby chuckled like a moron and swayed across her apartment. He languidly drifted, sometimes in a circle, sometimes back and forth, his eyes always on Chloe. She placed her head back to his chest, her long lashes blocking him from seeing where she gazed, feeling her chest rise and fall on his stomach. Not a single doubt pricked his mind as he gently tightened his hold on her, carefully turning back to the couch to settle down.

“Hey, Chloe?” he started, snaking his fingers through his hair as his back made contact with the couch cushion, his head on the armrest. “Do you wanna, uh, go to the movies tomorrow? You know, like, uh, a date? Get some dinner before that or somethin' and other stuff.”

She flicked her gaze up at him. “Well, that is what couples do, so, yes. I'd love that.”

“I'd...love that, too,” he said only to quietly gasp. “Oh, right, Happy New Year.”

Leaning up, Chloe kissed the center of his neck, eliciting a pleasant shiver from her boyfriend and grinned. “Happy New Year, Bobby.”

There were only a few moments in his life when Bobby Zilch felt whole. Just a few special moments when he really felt like nothing wrong would happen. The first time was when he was seven with the Grand Head's daughter helping him through Basic Braining. The second time was when an alien held his hand under the docks at twelve. The third time was when he was a seventeen-year-old setting the Denny's in Drywell on fire, laughing at the top of his lungs while his former coach stood gobsmacked next to him. The fourth time was when he and the former alien were partnered together in the Psychonauts when he was twenty-two. The last time was only a few months ago when he stormed through a heavily guarded facility where she was being held and isolated for information, bleeding and broken all for her sake, and the joy which had swelled within him when they embraced, her safe in his arms, could have fueled him for all eternity.

All of that was infinitesimal compared to the bliss helping him levitate a few inches off her couch.

Bobby watched her doze off perfectly comfortable on top of him. He found it almost funny. If he was a kid, he would have been sweating buckets if she was right outside of his personal space bubble. Even minutes ago, he worried about touching her, but all of that anxiety vanished in an instant, as if the sun peeked through the pitch black clouds and signaled the end of the storm.

He listened to her deeper breathing and realized she fell asleep. Glancing around her apartment, he realized the lights were still on, and they didn't have a blanket. Levitating a little higher, Bobby floated on his back and kept his arm around her, her limbs falling languidly off him while he maneuvered towards the light switch in the hallway.

Phoebe Love teleported right in front of him.

She wobbled, her complexion pale. Sighing, she looked up. Coming face-to-face with a wide-eyed Bobby resembling a deranged serial killer, she gasped and pulled back. She held up Chloe's helmet like it was a shield, glancing between him and Chloe, the former looking ready to scream.

“I, um, I got her helmet back from Nils,” she whispered, setting the helmet in his hand. She continued glancing between them, her shoulders awkwardly tilted. “So, are you two...?” She crossed her fingers in front of her face.

“Do me a solid,” Bobby mumbled, readjusting Chloe in his arms, “and get me a blanket and shut the lights off on your way out.”

“Right,” she quickly replied, ducking underneath Bobby's levitating form and heading to Chloe's bedroom.

Floating back to the couch, Bobby slumped back down and placed her helmet on the table. Chloe stirred but didn't make a sound. He focused on her breathing, feeling her chest press against him and enjoying the warmth of her body on top of his. Not even the interruption of his noisy therapist could have ruined his bliss, and he knew Chloe would be happy to wake up to see her helmet safe and sound in the morning.

Watching Phoebe return, he took the soft, white blanket from her and wrapped it around himself and Chloe. Glancing up at Phoebe, he pointed at the door and scowled.

“So, is it official? Or is this just like a really deep, trusting, platonic relationship?” Phoebe whispered, a smile creeping on her face.

“Do friends share a fucking blanket on a couch and fall asleep toge-mmph?” Bobby barked back only for Chloe to wake up, grab his face, and shove her lips on his to silence him.

“Bobby, go to sleep,” Chloe ordered before her head plummeted back on his chest. Noticing Phoebe out of the corner of her eye, she gave a curt nod of her head and promptly fell back asleep.

Phoebe quirked an eyebrow, observing Bobby's complexion turn rosy red. Humming, she nodded and quietly asked, “Want me to pencil you in for tomorrow to talk about this?”

Bobby touched his lips and whispered, “Make it in two days. I have a date tomorrow night.”

Giving him a supportive thumbs-up, Phoebe smiled and tiptoed away. She flicked off the light switch, her mirth and mischievous spirit palpable to the tomato-faced Bobby. She wiggled her fingers in a wave and teleported away, leaving Bobby to glare at the darkened corner of Chloe's apartment.

His annoyance didn't last long. When he took off his glasses and set them on the desk, he could still make out the tips of Chloe's hair. With the warmth of the blanket covering them and her body on top of his, he levitated a few inches off the couch and listened to the nightlife. Cars racing up and down streets, fireworks exploding in the sky, people bringing in the New Year with shouts and cheers, it all would have been bothersome noise just a few years ago.

Hearing it now with her in his arms made him grin hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. He ran his fingers down the bumps of her spine and stopped on the small of her back, keeping his palm flat. The part of him still believing he was dreaming was silenced when he smoothed his hand back up to the nape of her neck, feeling her pulse pump in a steady rhythm against his index finger.

He looked forward to waking up tomorrow. He wouldn't be leering at his ceiling after only a few hours of sleep because of insomnia. He'd wake up with her in his arms or maybe she would get up before him and tell him good morning in her soft, controlled voice.

Giddiness rose him a little higher, but the lull of sleep pulled him back down. He nestled in the couch, Chloe uttering a quiet sigh in her sleep. He fixed the blanket with his free hand, carefully tugging over her shoulders and then slung both arms around her. Bobby couldn't keep his eyes off her even when his eyelids grew heavy, hoping to commit the sight of her to his memory to take with him to sleep.

_I love you._

Although no one answered him, Bobby fell asleep feeling like she heard him when her hand rested over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!! even though i'm posting this fic a bit early. i got into psychonauts around late 2010 because of these two (the chloe, nils, and bobby was the first cutscene i ever saw despite knowing about it because of the tv commercial back in 2005), and now i'm ending the decade with them!!
> 
> there were a few different scenes in this fic. it was originally mikhail popping in with chloe's helmet being shocked but very supportive. i picked phoebe at the end since i really like the idea of bobby, after digging himself into the biggest hole of his life, crawling over to her asking for help after she offered it for a really long time and he kept spurning her (along with other friends who wanted to help). she was reluctant at first since he's punked her before about therapy, but he's like "PLEASE i'll be good i'll listen" outside her office after his big car crash, and she gives in and lets him be her patient. the first few sessions are very argumentative, bobby being like "why can't you just give me tips and tricks or something why do i have to talk about my issues we all know my issues" and her slamming her face into her clipboard going "you have childhood trauma and the worst coping skills i've ever seen you need to TELL ME about your problems so I CAN HELP YOU THAT IS HOW THERAPY WORKS!!!" it's better sailing after that, but it's really rough at first with them both just glaring at each other for the full hour. (one thing i kept imagining was phoebe leaning back in her seat like eric andre going "so that ''''''sob story'''''' you told me at summer camp about your awful parents and awful home life....was the truth.....and you've been sitting on that for years after laughing in my face when i tried helping you......you bastard" and he's just buried his face in his hands in shame.)
> 
> i made a giant headcanon dump post about lili and bobby being best friends at camp, but bobby ruins it because...he's bobby and realizes 'oh bullying is actually fun and i feel stronger by doing it :)' and she's like 'i don't want that see ya' and he burns her garden when she calls him out and they start fighting when he tries apologizing in the parking lot and oops he gets tossed in the gpc, but it's okay they're friends now. that's the reference to them in basic braining for the first time when he's seven.
> 
> another different scene was benny supposed to show up somewhere but i was 3/4s done with this fic when i remembered he existed. i'm sorry benny maybe next time. i did have a thought of him teleporting in asking them if they've seen his juul only to go bug-eyed when he spots them on the couch and chloe goes >:3 at him. just an absolutely cursed scene which would ruin the fic but fun to imagine. i headcanon benny not as a full agent, just in the reserves if they need him since he goes off to new york to pursue his theatrical dreams of being a key figure on broadway. does it go well? i don't know because i haven't given it that much thought yet.
> 
> anyway, i hope you all enjoyed this 13k fic of these two getting together because i sure as hell had a lot of fun writing it!!!
> 
> p.s. the true ending of this fic is bobby going in his mind to attack all the shitty versions of himself with a psi chainsaw.


End file.
